


Protea

by sinnermon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Family, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Pregnancy, Rewrite, Trans Female Character, this is the new and improved version!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 01:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12222588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinnermon/pseuds/sinnermon
Summary: Following in her mother's footsteps, Fareeha Amari achieves her dream of joining the ranks of Overwatch, as Satya Vaswani achieves her dream of starting a family.





	1. Arbutus

**Author's Note:**

> COMMENTS > KUDOS!!!! starting a new series (even tho its just a revamp) is super duper difficult, so its rly appreciated when yall give me some motivation!! thank u !!!!
> 
> \---
> 
> THIS IS A REWRITE THIS IS A REWRITE AND IM SO EXCITED
> 
> I LIKED THIS CHAPTER TO SOME DEGREE?? IDK????

Satya hears Fareeha’s lumbering footsteps behind her, encumbered by exhaustion. While Satya wakes with the sun, ready to go a full hour before Fareeha, her girlfriend rises with the blaring of her alarm clock. Helix demands a tight schedule, and Fareeha is not willing to stray from the timetable. Every moment that she spends enjoying the early Cairo mornings is a moment she doesn’t spend catching up on sleep after a particularly difficult job.

Yesterday was her off day, but she spent it catching up with an old friend at a bar. The late night return helped her stick to the program, but Satya knew by the way she walked that there was nothing else beneficial about the meeting.

“Did you have fun last night?” She asks, sprinkling tumeric over the breakfast she’s preparing.

Fareeha hums an affirmation, sitting down heavily in her chair. She slumps over the table, head hitting the wood with a thunk that catches Satya’s attention.

Covering the pot, she turns to Fareeha. With a careful touch, she whisks away the baby hairs that have sat at her forehead for too long, pressing a kiss where they lay. “Drink too much?”

“Didn’t drink at all,” She responds. Her speech is slurred, but Satya recognizes it to be sleep, rather than drunkenness. A hungover Fareeha is less than a tired Fareeha, a portrait that Satya has been frank about never wanting to see again. “Just was out too late.”

Satya runs her fingers through Fareeha’s hair, still soft, albeit tangled, after a night out. Pulling away gently, she returns to the stove, carefully removing the lid and prodding at the umpa. Behind her, Fareeha groans miserably.

“What is that?” She asks, head hitting the table again.

“Umpa,” Satya responds, “you like it.”

The chair slides against the tile flooring, and Satya turns to see Fareeha coming towards her. She slings her arms around Satya’s shoulders, one hand looping back to cover her own nose, the other moving to place the lid back on the pot. Using the wooden spoon, Satya swats at her hand, trying to protect the meal she’s cooking.

“Satya, it smells _awful,_ ” Fareeha complains, pulling back.

“It smells how it smelled last week! You liked it then.”

“Clearly, my taste has changed.”

Satya rolls her eyes, grabbing the liquid measure from beside her as she crosses the kitchen to the sink. “Well, you can help yourself to leftovers. There’s that thing you made the other night. The one I couldn’t eat-.”

“Honest mistake, honest mistake.” Fareeha raises her hand in surrender, going to the fridge. “I substituted in the lahma bil basal.”

“It didn’t taste right.”

“That’s why we use beef. But, I’m willing to find more vegetarian-friendly recipes.”

As Satya returns to her post, pouring the water in and sprinkling salt over the mixture, Fareeha joins her, resting her hands on Satya’s hips. She buries her nose in her shoulder, taking in the scent of the laundry soap- the first joint purchase they’d made since Satya moved in.

“You’re like those bears,” Satya teases. “The tiny ones that aren’t bears.”

“A koala?”

“Yes, you’re a koala.”

Fareeha laughs, the sound absorbing right into Satya’s sweater. She raises her head, making an exaggerated gagging noise as she smells the umpa.

“Has anybody ever told you that you’re overdramatic?” Satya asks, moving her hips to rid herself of Fareeha’s weight.

Whining, Fareeha shuffles to the sink. She runs the tap, bending over the basin as she pulls her hair from her face.

“Are you really going-?” Cut off by the sound of Fareeha’s retching, Satya hurries to cover the pot again, shoving it to a back burner. She rushes to Fareeha’s side, carefully moving her hair as her girlfriend attempts to compose herself.

“Let me call your boss,” Satya urges, helping Fareeha right herself once the bout is over. “I’ll tell him that you’re under the weather, can’t come in today.”

“Doesn’t work that way,” Fareeha spits into the basin, rubbing her stomach as she pulls away. “I’m going to be fine. Just a… Bad moment.”

Rolling her eyes, Satya reaches for a washcloth dangling from the refrigerator’s handle. She seizes it, running it under the tap as Fareeha leans against the counter, stomach still churning. Once the towel’s been wrung out, Satya brings it to her lips, wiping the trails of sick from Fareeha’s mouth, before folding it and dragging the clean fabric over her forehead.

“You look pale.” Satya murmurs, though she doesn’t protest. Living with Fareeha, she’s learned which battles to pick. Work is not one of them.

Fareeha nods, turning to the sink again with no hesitation. Again, Satya brings her hand to grab up Fareeha’s hair, using her other to rub smooth circles in the small of her back. Somewhat experimentally, Fareeha hunches over, head in her hands as her mouth hangs open.

“Why don’t you go lie down?” A hint of desperation oozes into Satya’s voice, but Fareeha shakes her head, and she continues her soothing.

At last, Fareeha raises her head, as well as she was before. She shuffles from the room without another word, the bedroom door closing heavily once she’s out of view.

The pot still sits on the stove, plates set out carefully on the table. It was intended to be the perfect solution to her early rising, but falls apart with the scent of turmeric and tomato. Satya gathers up the dishware, placing it back up with the cabinet with a defeated sigh.

From somewhere in the apartment, Fareeha stumbles as she works with her pants in her sick and sleep-induced haze. A bang sounds, and a cry of pain comes from a room buried in the deep of the structure. Satya doesn’t question it anymore, just smirks and begins to scrape breakfast from the pot, washing it down the drain with what little Fareeha had in her stomach.

Even when she’s sick in the sink and struggling with her slacks, Satya loves her. She loves the way that Fareeha ties the tie on her uniform, always slightly asymmetrical- as though she had never quite learned how. She loves it when after a late night shift, she comes with takeaway boxes and a dopey smile. She loves when Fareeha falls asleep halfway through a movie, but still picks up on the plot.

“I’m running late,” Fareeha hisses. She jogs to the fridge, button-up half-done, tie thrown lazily over her shoulders.

Kneeling, Fareeha digs through the many Tupperware containers, pulling several out and giving them a good whiff to determine their freshness. Finally, she sets out a pair, climbs back to her knees, and rushes to go find her bag somewhere in the apartment. Satya follows, watching Fareeha dig through their hallway closet. Coming up behind her, Satya rests a careful hand on the small of her girlfriend’s back.

“Take it easy today,” She pleads, and Fareeha turns briefly to plant a kiss on Satya’s check. Tracing a hand down the length of Fareeha’s spine as she goes back to her search, Satya moves away, feet padding against the floors almost silently.

Satya has never felt a necessity to keep up with Fareeha. As she tries to avoid a tardy marring her record, she flies through the halls of the apartment like a tornado, and Satya still feels alright as she walks quietly and calmly through the hall. There’s no need to find something to do, like there always was with Vishkar. For once, she can feel at peace, and it won’t be a facade.

“Hey!” Fareeha jogs up beside her, trying to get traffic information from her phone. Even with her attention split, she forms sentences smoothly, as though her focus is solely for Satya, “I need to talk to you over dinner. Do you want to make my mother’s spinach soup? I’ve been craving it all week.”

“What do we need to talk about?”

“It’s not much, just about some stuff that Jesse and I discussed last night.”

“Of course,” Satya says, voice a little more confident. Fareeha smiles so brightly it nearly blinds her, and turns on her heel to continue getting ready for work.

There’s clattering in the kitchen, but not enough that Satya can protest. Instead, she shimmies under the bedcovers, pulling a novel from the bedside table, and cracking it open with the perfect sound of a hardcover spine. It’s a rarity, plucked from the finest of antique stores. Fareeha had advised her against being so casual with it, but Satya had insisted it be a book for pleasure, not one for study. She had done enough studying with Vishkar.

As she glances over the pages, the clamor grows quiet, and instead is replaced by urgent footsteps coming her way. Satya peers over the top of the tome, noticing Fareeha at the door like a puppy. Her cheeks are red with effort, and she waves giddily.

“I love you!” She calls out, “I’ll see you tonight!”

“Six o’clock,” Satya affirms.

“Six o’clock.”

 

The door slams.

Satya’s book falls from her hands, landing squarely on the bedsheets. There’s shuffling in the hall, and with bated breath, Satya climbs from the mattress. Near silently, she works the bedside table’s drawer open, grabbing up one of the pistols she had placed there in the event of Vishkar’s reappearance. A few bullets lay beside it, and before they can roll with the movement, she grabs them up, stuffing them urgently into the machine.

Her eyes flit to the wall clock- not even noon yet. They have no appointments or engagements, and it’s nobody’s business but the landlord’s to enter the apartment unannounced. Even then, Feme always provided warning to her “favorite tenants.”

Fear clutches at Satya’s heart, and her hands shake as they wrap around the grip. Still, she swallows down the panic, and presses into the hallway. It’s silent, lights still switched off from Fareeha’s leaving this morning. Everything is in perfect place, no sign of a robbery.

Each movement is careful and calculated as Satya steps through the halls. She uses what she learned when she first moved in, unable to fully trust Fareeha still. The floorboards which creak the worst are well-known, and she skirts about them with a small inkling of pride at the knowledge of her home.

With the sound of coughing, the feeling is paused as Satya bitterly creates a profile of whoever is burglarizing her home. They must be stupid, she knows. No sensible thief makes this much noise when stealing.

The coughing ceases, replaced with a horrific retching, and Satya’s gun drops to the floor with an impressive clatter. She laments Fareeha for not making her presence known, but slips into the bathroom nonetheless. With great care, she sweeps up her girlfriend’s hair and makes soothing circles between her shoulder-blades.

Once Fareeha has expelled her stomach contents sufficiently, she raises her head, turning to face Satya with no shortage of exhaustion painting her face.

“You’re home,” Satya remarks, pulling baby hairs from Fareeha’s forehead. They always make their way there on the humid days, swirling sometimes into delightful little patterns.

Fareeha nods, but says nothing. Her attention turns back to the toilet bowl, and she grips the seat with a newfound determination. With sweat dripping down her face, she shifts on the floor, waiting for the nausea to pass. It finally does, and she crumples to a heap on the cool tiles.

“I got sent home,” Fareeha admits, placing one hand over her stomach, and the other across her forehead, “because I felt sick.”

“I can see.”

A small giggle rises from Fareeha’s throat, and she finds enough humor in the situation to move into the fetal position.

“Are you sleeping there tonight?” Satya asks, a coy smile coming to rest on her lips. Knowing the answer, she slips her hands underneath Fareeha’s armpits, and slowly helps her to stand. “There’s so much bacteria floating around in here. It’ll only make you worse.”

Reluctantly, Fareeha nods. She begins to stumble her way to the bedroom, aided by Satya. In the middle of their journey, she pauses, examining the abandoned pistol in the hall. Amusement paints her features, and she quirks a brow as she turns to face Satya.

Stammering somewhat, Satya manages a response, “Y-You never told me that you were coming home. I got worried.”

Feigning great effort, Fareeha bends at the knees, collecting up the gun and giving it a thorough examination. She smiles, the pallor in her face being replaced somewhat by the usual warmth of her skin, as she remarks, “At least you aren’t afraid to use it. Even if you would’ve shot me.”

“If you weren’t vomiting.”

“Saved by the sickness.”

 

It’s late when they eat, cross-legged on the bed. The majority of the day has been spent with Fareeha sleeping off her ailment, and Satya poring over the pages of her prose. She remains immersed until nearly sundown, when Fareeha finally begins to stir as the pastiness has fully left her face. Then, she rises with purpose, promising dinner in bed, and delivers on that nearly forty minutes later.

“Tastes good,” Fareeha nods. She stirs at it with idle intent, before taking a hearty spoonful between her lips. “Just like my mother’s.”

Satya beams at the approval, though she easily becomes flustered, and looks back at the soup to disguise her blush. Whether she notices or not, Fareeha doesn’t comment. They sit in a relative silence, interrupted only by their slurping.

“Did your mother ever give you recipes?” The silence is broken with Fareeha’s question.

They speak little of Satya’s biological family. Even with her separation from Vishkar, the institution had raised her. The pair that had birthed and kept her until the age of seven were largely discarded. In Satya’s memory even, they were little but specks.

“No.” It’s a firm answer, but truthful. She has no care to elaborate further.

Fareeha nods. She reclines on the pillows, prodding briefly at her soup. “My mother made sure she left me a book of them. She’d say that even if I never gave her grandchildren, then I would at least have something for archeologists to dig up and make her famous for.”

Quiet returns to the room, settling over the pair like a blanket. It sits, letting the two of them stew with their soup. Finally, Fareeha’s stomach rumbles like thunder, and she groans dramatically.

“Feeling ill?” Satya asks, barely looking up from her meal.

“No,” Fareeha whines. She sets her empty bowl up on the bedside table, rising from the mattress with somewhat of a wobble. “Just hungry.”

“I made more than enough.”

“But I really want something sweet.”

“Something sweet?”

Nodding, Fareeha walks into the hallway, and Satya sighs in a similarly dramatic fashion. She rests against the pillows like Fareeha had done, scraping her spoon against the side of the bowl. While spinach has never been her favorite green, she doesn’t mind it. The look of elation on Fareeha’s face is enough to warrant making it, time and again.

It feels different now, and a deeper part of Satya hates herself for bending so easily to her whims. A worse part of Satya does it, not the part of Satya that is willing to spend her time at the stovetop for a short burst of joy.

A bout of sickness doesn’t even seem to justify it for the angry Satya, the Satya who has still been scared to death, and left alone. That Satya sits in her resentment, quiet and roiling until Fareeha peeks back into the doorframe. She smiles brightly, coming to sit back on the mattress with a stack of biscuits in her hands.

“That soup was really good, though,” Fareeha confesses. She bites into one of the biscuits, and it snaps satisfyingly between her teeth. “Really, Satya, you make it just like my mother do- did.”

The correction is swift, but not fast enough that Satya still hears it. She notices the sad twinge coming to effect Fareeha’s face, and wonders if her protest is not worth it now. Angry Satya pushes the thought to the back of her mind, pressing forward to demand, “Why didn’t you have more of it, then, if you liked it so much?”

Unfazed, Fareeha shrugs. She offers out a biscuit to Satya, but she refuses. The kind Fareeha likes are always too sweet for her tastes. “My body’s sort of out of whack today. I woke up just _wanting_ soup, then I ate it, and now I’m just hungry for something else. Probably’ll go back to normal tomorrow.”

Satya nods, and tries to process it. The deeper parts of her mind still get themselves caught up in the comprehension, but finally come to rest when Fareeha says it: “Sorry if I seemed ungrateful. I’ll have it for lunch tomorrow, too.”

“If you go to work tomorrow,” Satya chides.

“Can’t skip everyday. Otherwise, how am I supposed to pay for your expensive habits?” Fareeha points to the book, and Satya laughs.

“It barely cost a hundred pounds!”

“Pricey!”

The two dissolve into a fit of laughter, only coming back to their reality when Satya points out the crumbs being sprinkled on the comforter. Fareeha rolls her eyes with a smile as Satya rants about the possibility for ants.

Dusting the covers free of mess, Satya lets her mind wander somewhat. Fareeha army crawls across the mattress, pulling Satya’s book from the bedside table. It’s English, a challenge for her mind as she tries to work what Vishkar had taught her into something more useful. They had prioritized multilingualism, but it was to be used as a business tactic only.

It feels like such a silly indulgence to read a book like that.

Fareeha cracks the spine, and it creaks gently. Satya does it enough that the action doesn’t signal any disrespect, only repetition.

“How do you understand this?” Fareeha muses. She flips through the pages with care, taking deep inhales as the scent of good, old book hits her.

“Practice.” Satya states, “You could learn, too. English is a bit hard to learn, but I’m sure you could take it up if you really wanted to.’

Humming idly, Fareeha continues to peruse the pages. The syllables sit on her lips, mouth forming words foreign to her. Still, she presses on, eyes crawling across the pages as she works with greater difficulty. At times, she pauses in the midst of a sentence, failing to bring the letters before her into coherence.

Eventually, she tosses the book to Satya, who catches it in her lap. Fareeha flips over onto her back, resting a palm over the flat expanse of her stomach. She scans the ceiling, then flits her gaze to Satya, right beside her.

“I forgot,” Fareeha says, squinting.

“What?”

“That I needed to talk to you.”

A lightning bolt strikes deep in Satya’s chest, worming deep into the center of her heart. It stings, the electricity squiggling through her veins, and she feels immobilized. Fareeha blinks at her, and she doesn’t feel the usual spell-breaking sweetness it comes equipped with.

“Jesse offered me a job.” It’s said so simply, with her back still arched against the mattress like they’re winding down on a Friday night. Fareeha wiggles, heaving herself over onto her side. She looks over Satya’s face, trying to gauge her reaction, but she’s stony and silent.

“You _have_ a job,” Satya states, but it sounds more pleading than factual.

Fareeha shrugs. “I guess so. This job just seems better.”

“What is it?”

Quirking a brow, Fareeha bites her lip. She concentrates on a cigarette burn in the carpet, leftover from back when Satya was clueless as to Fareeha’s stress smoking and caught her redhanded, leaning out the window like an European grandmother. For a moment, Satya wonders how many packs she’s gone through in the past few weeks.

“It’s, um,” Fareeha searches for the word, “lucrative. Very-.”

“What _is_ it?”

Swallowing thickly, Fareeha comes to sit up properly now. There’s a small moment of silence, though she quickly ends it. “It’s with Overwatch. They’ve moved operations to Gibraltar, and they want me to come help them fight.”

A laugh comes from the back of Satya’s throat, and she spits, “Overwatch is gone.”

Overwatch is the most sensitive topic in the apartment. For Fareeha, it brings up too many miserable memories, and just drags the two of them into a spiral. Satya thinks to when she first had brought it up, in a heated argument in a warehouse in Brazil. She thinks of the face Fareeha had made, her expression dropping beneath the Raptora’s visor.

“They’ve rebuilt it,” Fareeha’s voice has dropped, sounding ashamed and timid. “I-It’s back, and they’re going to help people, Satya. Isn’t that what you wanted to do when you left Vishkar? To help people?”

“Not illegally. The Petras Act is still in effect.”

Fareeha frowns, as though this is the first time the thought has dawned on her. It isn’t true, Satya knowsm. Ever since that dinner with Jesse McCree, she’s likely been caught in the cogs of her own mind.

“You don’t have to join,” Fareeha muses. “I think I will, but I won’t force you to. All I ask, if you don’t want to join, is that you come with me. Even if you don’t like Gibraltar, go to Spain. Somewhere where I can stop by and see you. We could get an apartment on the seashore, and you’d be able to work without Vishkar hanging over your head.”

It had always been Fareeha’s dream to be among Overwatch’s ranks. Satya remembers going through old photo albums, clutching images of Fareeha dressed in her mother’s uniform. The pants were too big, dragging around on the floor, but she looked so proud to simply be bearing Overwatch’s insignia, no matter how pretend it was. 

Here, they toe the line. Fareeha’s dreams verging on reality, fiction and fact blurring and merging. If Satya were more sentimental, she might just cheer her on. But she knows that dreams are meant to be dreams, as no person sprouts wings after their mind thinks it up. There must be some limit.

“I don’t think you should join,” In attempt to make the words sound more kind, Satya smiles, though she just looks rather grim.

“Helix does,” Fareeha snaps, an uncharacteristic anger crossing her face. Satya’s facade melts, and she stares forward, eyes level with Fareeha’s in a challenge. “How come my boss supports me more than you do?”

“Because your boss,” Satya hisses, “doesn’t have to live with this. H-He’s turning a _profit_ , Fareeha. Can you really not see that? Why did Vishkar send me to school? So I could follow my dreams and be happy?”

With great irritation, Fareeha peels herself off the bed, storming to stare out the window. On second though, she reaches to the bedside table, digging in the drawer for her cigarettes. Producing the pack, she rips it open, going back to the window and hauling it open. She toys with the cigarette between her fingers, digging in her pants for a lighter.

Rolling her eyes, Satya crosses her arms. “Go outside. The whole room smells when you smoke in here.”

“How come I can’t smoke in my apartment? I’m the only one who pays rent!” Fareeha shouts, and Satya refuses to shrink.

“Just because I’m out of a job,” She spits, “that doesn’t mean you can smoke wherever you want. Whether or not I pay rent- I live here!”

“You could look for a job.” A bulb of flame comes up from the hood, and Fareeha presses it to the end of her cigarette. She sticks it between her teeth, practically gnawing it she’s so incensed. “Nobody put you on fucking house arrest.”

Satya removes herself from the bed as well, crossing the room to join Fareeha at the window. In a moment of bravery, she snatches the smoke from between Fareeha’s lips, smashing it into the sill without hesitation. The embers gleam for half a second, then die in a crumpled pile of ash.

Unblinking, Fareeha grabs out another, struggling with the lighter’s child safety. An infrequent smoker, she hasn’t made a habit of the practiced motion of flicking the sparkwheel. It lights at long last, and Satya covers it with her hand, stifling the flame until it dies.

“Dammit, Satya!” Throwing the lighter to the floor, Fareeha’s face flushes a furious red. She stands, tense and ready to spring into action, facing Satya with a face contorted hideously by rage. Both refuse to cease in their standoff, until Fareeha bends down, retrieves her lighter, and disappears out the door.

No peace comes to Satya, just a bitter, sickening anger. It stirs in her gut, and she lies back on the bed, trying determinedly to absolve herself of it. Far out in the hallway, the door slams again, loud enough to rattle a picture frame on a shelf. She stares at it, watching a nine-year-old Fareeha clutching desperately to her mother’s leg, both bearing Overwatch insignia. They pose outside of a base, snow piling up around their feet.

Pulling herself from the blankets, she stands upright, too restless to sleep. A more romantic part of her wants to pursue Fareeha down the hall, and tell her to pursue her dreams. The practical part of Satya stands frozen in the home, fists balling at her side. She slips out of the bedroom, walking through the hall with a strange sense of foreboding. 

Goosebumps prickle her arms, and Satya moves into the kitchen, feeling her head spinning from the activity of the day. As she comes up to the stove, she wonders how Fareeha’s virus is, but quickly rods herself of the thought. She’ll take advantage of the alone time, preparing her next defense over a silly, nostalgia-fueled dream.

Fareeha has always lived in her own head. It makes Satya feel a hideous combination of jealousy and rightful bitterness. When she first moved in, Fareeha had such grand plans for the home, trying to make it a bit more like Satya’s. They finally settled on ordering furniture from a catalogue when Fareeha was too burnt out from work to try and achieve what she’d set out for herself. A few of the tapestries she’d hung in the living room remain, but other than that, it’s all from a big box store. The sentiment is there, but sentiment doesn’t count in work.

Vishkar works on their projects right down the street from the apartment, and Satya spends much of her day inside. When she goes out, it’s either flanked by Fareeha, or hidden by scarves and hats as to not be spotted on her grocery runs. To have a job would have her on file here, and have her making more, regular trips out of the apartment.

She wants to contribute, but so long as Vishkar is perched like a vulture at their site on the corner, she relies on Helix’s generosity towards Fareeha. The last bonus had come in late, a measly sum as well. Satya doesn’t blame Fareeha for wanting to move on, her work is barely compensated fairly as it is. When she does more than her share, it’s barely pocket money, just a shred of the recognition she really deserves.

It’s too quiet in the apartment.

Resigned, Satya returns to the hallway, considering grabbing a light sweater to ward off the summer night’s chill. She forgoes it in favor of leaving the apartment urgently, careful to shut the door with less noise. Taking the stairs two at a time, she comes to the entrance hall, peering around carefully.

Their downstairs neighbor gives her a small wave as he pries open his mailbox. Most of the building’s residents have recognized her features as foreign, and assume she lacks knowledge of Arabic. They’ve never asked, and Satya never tells.

Slipping past him, she makes it to the street, head swiveling like a periscope. It only takes a turn of her head to find Fareeha, leaning against the side of the building with a cigarette between her fingers, unlit. Her gaze turns from the sidewalk to Satya, the result of some bizarre sixth sense.

Coming beside Fareeha, Satya feels a chill run through her. She stands silently, hands buried in the pockets of her pants.

“Tasted bad,” Fareeha says. It takes Satya a moment to remember the cigarette, sad and unused. “Just made me feel sick.”

“I’m sorry,” Its not the right phrase for the situation, but it’s supposed to be said anyways. “I was just really worried.”

Fareeha shrugs, giving Satya a careful appraisal. “I was an ass. You’re just looking out for me. If you don’t want me to do this, then, I won’t.”

“You should.” Satya argues, feeling the same fire that had burned in Fareeha’s belly less than an a half hour ago. “And I should, too. Even if it’s illegal, I want to do something good.”

A small smile rests on Fareeha’s lips, and she pulls the carton of cigarettes from the back pocket of her pants, offering it out to Satya. When met with a raised brow, Fareeha simply responds, “I know you take them. Unless you’re trying to quit, just have one.”

In an ideal world, Satya would pledge to quit and reject the offering. On a night in June that’s far too cold for the season, however, she puts it between her lips and lights it.


	2. Bells of Ireland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COMMENTS > KUDOS!!! i genuninely appreciate every single comment- this chapter is nearly 5,000 words so id really like to know my effort isnt in vain!!
> 
> \---
> 
> this chapter is HUGE and im hoping its ok!! enjoy!!!!!

Both Satya and Fareeha are accustomed to air travel, albeit in their own different ways. As a child, Satya was lauded for being so cultured, having flown about for her Academy training. When she was about twelve, the trips began to blend together. No two were exactly the same, but not entirely different either. It seemed that Fareeha held a similar opinion, having taken piloting lessons in her youth, courtesy of her adventure-hungry father. She loved the thrill, rather than the destination.

Still, Fareeha is not so content to be a passenger. As they sit in the Cairo airport, her leg bounces furiously while she scans the board for their flight. Resting a hand on her knee, Satya smiles lovingly, trying to reassure her that their pilot is capable.

“Did you bring something to read?” Satya asks, “It’s almost twenty-seven hours.”

“No,” Fareeha says. “Five hours to Heathrow, two hours to Gibraltar. Twenty hour layover. Why do we have a twenty hour layover?”

“So we could enjoy London,” Lying through her teeth, Satya wraps her arms around Fareeha’s bicep. In truth, she had forgotten to schedule the trip, even with the importance it weighing down on her. The twenty hour layover was the cheapest she could find, but Satya would never admit that.

Fareeha seems content with that answer, leaning her head against Satya’s and providing her with a kiss to the forehead. Her leg bounces, and she shifts in the chair nervously.

“Go take a walk,” Satya suggests, wrapping her fingers tightly around Fareeha’s bicep. Admittedly, she needs Fareeha out of sight for a few minutes. Her stress radiates, and Satya finds herself falling into the traps of anxiety.

Reluctantly, Fareeha rises, stretching her limbs as she does. Underneath her tight flannel, the outlines of her muscles contract and relax, much to Satya’s delight. She observes, biting her lip, catching Fareeha’s attention as she does. Like a schoolgirl, she blushes brightly, and turns her head to avoid even more embarrassment. Fareeha laughs, resting her palms on Satya’s shoulders.

“Come with me,” She says.

Satya lifts her head, considering the offer. Finally, she reaches down, grabbing the strap of one of their backpacks, shoving it between her and Fareeha. “We have to take the bags.”

“Of course. I’ll carry both,” Fareeha replies, slinging the strap over her shoulder. With a goofy grin, she leans to take the other, hefting it onto her other shoulder, and swinging it around so the pack lies against her front.

Giggling, Satya punches her gently in the arm, standing to be met with a kiss on the lips. She melts into the touch, feeling safe and secure for the first time since they cleared airport security. It was Fareeha’s fault, but at least she’s making it up. Fareeha offers an arm to her, and Satya gladly accepts.

“I’m starving,” Fareeha complains as they begin their promenade.

“You’re always hungry,” Satya shoots back, though she keeps an eye out for a cafe. “We had lunch before we left.”

“Still hungry- I have a fast metabolism.”

“Really? I’m sure your jeans would beg to differ.”

Fareeha sticks out her tongue, shrugging off one of the packs and passing it off to Satya. She gives a little grin when Satya whines, and ruffles her hair. A small cry escapes her, and Fareeha pauses to burst into laughter. The shopkeepers give a few odd glances in their direction, but the pair neglect the stares in favor of ducking into a small, local store.

The pastry displays are packed to the brim, an aroma of chocolate and cinnamon dancing delicately in the air. Beside Satya, Fareeha swings off her own backpack, digging in it for her wallet. She scrutinizes each confection, as though she’s to be judging them. Wrapping her fingers around Fareeha’s bicep like tendrils of ivy to a trellis, Satya clings tight to her girlfriend.

“Do you want anything?” Fareeha asks, still staring forward at the wares.

Mulling it over briefly, Satya shakes her head, then rests it against Fareeha’s shoulder. She’s met with the touch of warmer fingers against hers, locking together contentedly.

She steps forward to the counter, Satya shuffling along beside her. They speak in Arabic to rapid and complex for Satya’s foreign brain to properly contemplate, so she studies the menu boards as compensation. Over her relationship with Fareeha, she’s gotten much better. It had been too difficult to teach Fareeha’s less pliable adult brain Hindi or English, so Satya drew on what she had learned in school- not much, but enough. They had grown able to communicate without translators, but the outsiders to their relationship still present a linguistic barrier for Satya to tackle.

Pulling bills from her wallet, Fareeha hands them over the counter, giving a dopey smile to Satya. It’s returned in equally silly measure. The moment passes as soon as it had come, the cashier handing over the pastures. Satya understands her bidding of good travels as they leave, and listens fondly to Fareeha’s reciprocation.

Returning to the gate, Fareeha begins to produce pastries from the bag. She offers a croissant out to Satya, who shakes her head and screws up her face. Fareeha shrugs, biting into the pastry with a broad smile.

“I’ll save you some,” She offers.

“Really, Fareeha, I’ll be fine.”

As they reach their gate, they’re met with the announcement of boarding. Fareeha groans, and Satya rubs the small of her back sweetly. They stand hesitantly, waiting for their group to be called. Satya can feel Fareeha’s anxiety radiating again, and she moves her hand from her arm, taking Fareeha’s fingers between hers and squeezing.

“Why are you stressed?” Satya asks, and Fareeha shrugs.

“I’m not.”

“You are. I can hear your thoughts, they’re pouring out of your ears.” For emphasis, she stands on her tip-toes, tickling Fareeha’s earlobe.

Ducking, Fareeha squirms and bumps a passerby. Answering the dirty look with an apologetic wave, she turns, giving Satya a playful glare.

“Look what you did!” She hisses, “Don’t laugh- you’re causing a ruckus!”

Toothy grin refusing to disappear, Satya cackles, and Fareeha raises an eyebrow. Slowly, they calm as the agent calls their group, but Satya keeps making for her ears.

 

Fareeha shuffles around in her seat, leaning her back up against the window, then maneuvering her feet into Satya’s lap. She lies still for a moment, before the arrangement begins to bother her, and she wiggles wildly in the chair again. Finally, she swings her legs back to the floor, pouting as she throws herself back against the seat.

“Restless already?” Satya asks. Book open in her lap, she’s spent the past hour of their flight enameled with it, almost entirely neglecting Fareeha.

Nodding, Fareeha shifts again, hand coming to rest over her stomach. She closes her eyes, achieving a few small moments of peace. It barely takes five minutes for her to wrap both her arms around her abdomen, doubling over.

“Are you okay?” Leaning down slightly, Satya keeps a gentle hand on Fareeha’s back.

“Motion sickness,” Fareeha replies, coming to sit up.

She reaches for the sick bag in the pocket in front of her, opening it with little flourish. Cautiously, Satya rests her hand over Fareeha’s forehead, then rakes her fingers through her hair, collecting it up in a messy bun. There’s a moment of silence as Satya rubs Fareeha’s back, and whispers small assurances in her ear.

They sit like this for a while. All the while, the plane engines roar, the communication system lungs and dings. Fareeha will cough, and then shut her eyes to wait for what won’t happen. Satya will tense up, and the moment will pass. Nonetheless, the bag stays open, even when Fareeha reclines again, eyes screwed shut.

Lifting the arm rest, Satya closes the gap between them. She nestles her head between Fareeha’s own, and her shoulder. Fareeha opens her arms, taking Satya against her chest. It’s silent for a moment, even with the noise of the cabin. Even with it, they’re in a bubble.

It lasts this time, for thirty minutes. Fareeha grows restless and nauseated again, shifting wildly in the seat until Satya orders her to rest. She takes up the bag again, this time with a worse expression on her face. It lasts longer than before, and ends in Fareeha retching loudly enough to catch the flight attendant’s attention without any button-pressing.

They’re provided a stack of bags, and a can of ginger ale. Fareeha apologizes profusely as she wraps her arms around her stomach, pressing close against Satya’s side. She shifts, worming her head in the crook of Satya’s neck.

“Sorry,” She murmurs, “that was gross.”

Satya shrugs, and Fareeha sighs contentedly. Nose crinkling at the smell of her breath, Satya shifts, and turns her head the other way. Fareeha doesn’t mind, and curls up against her. Her breathing is heavy and practiced, trying to ward away the sickness.

“When we’re in London...” She begins, trailing off as the plane bumbles along in the clouds. Fareeha deeply inhales, burying her face in Satya’s shoulder.

To her credit, Satya has some zen. Again, she sets her hand on Fareeha’s back, keeping her eyes closed as the bundle at her side shifts and squirms. Eventually, the plane evens, and Fareeha dares to look out to the aisle, trying to find her sentence amongst the rows of seating.

“Let’s rent a hotel room,” She finishes.

“You’re not interested in walking around?” Satya teases, pressing a kiss to Fareeha’s cheek. It earns her a miserable little whimper, and Satya softens. Gathering up her girlfriend in her arms, she nods. “Get some sleep. I can make the reservation.”

“No, I should,” Fareeha protests. The plane dips, and she whines again, her arguments falling flat. Satya prepares a bag, and Fareeha grabs at it without another word

Running on bile, she only dry-heaves, thin trails of spit dripping from Fareeha’s mouth as she gags. The passengers around them give her an odd look, but Satya shuts them down with a withering glare. It takes longer for the plane to level out, and the fit of nausea lasts with it. Fareeha groans, lifting her head before sending it back over the bag with the oncoming of turbulence.

“Maybe we should cancel the flight to Gibraltar,” Satya suggests, running her fingers through Fareeha’s hair, “until you’re feeling better.”

Fareeha shakes her head, folding the bag up with shivering hands. She rests her head against the back of the seat in front of her, groaning. “Just motion sickness.”

“You’ll be motion sick on the way to Gibraltar, too.”

“Can we just get it over with?”

 

By some stroke of luck, the flight to Gibraltar is easier. There’s less turbulence, and Fareeha manages to sleep through the majority of the trip. Only when they land does she begin to groan and whine, and then, Satya can rush her to the airport bathroom in time for the false alarm to pass them by.

“You’re going to finally meet Jesse,” Fareeha muses, putting on a pair of sunglasses.

Satya nods, refusing to voice her true concern over meeting Fareeha’s oldest and dearest friend. New in Fareeha’s life, Jesse has the right to edge her out if he doesn’t like her company. A pit of anxiety forms in Satya’s stomach, and she tries her best to match Fareeha’s urgent strides as they cross the airport to the baggage carousel.

“Are you doing okay?” Of course, Fareeha’s intuition kicks in right as Satya’s mind starts to race.

The words struggle to string together, and come out in a jumbled disaster. She can’t even try to be coherent, just lets the syllables fall off her tongue stupidly. It’s lucky Fareeha has a sense of humor, laughing kindly despite Satya’s mistake. Nonetheless, Satya blushes fiercely, and steps up to the conveyer belt without another word.

“Sure you’re okay?” Fareeha asks, sidling up to her.

“Just nervous.” She manages, spying a Helix-branded duffel bag out of the corner of her eye. Before she can even alert Fareeha, she’s ducked over the belt, hoisting it off. It’s one less burden for Satya to bear.

“About what?”

Chugging down the carousel comes Satya’s luggage, a move-in gift from Fareeha. Satya points out the suitcases, sparing her from having to answer at the moment. It seems the question is forgotten as they wait for the last bag, a boxy black case with all of Fareeha’s most precious items stored in it. Most of it was tacky decor her mother had left behind, but Satya could understand the sentiment.

“Satya,” Fareeha turns to her, “are you even listening to me?”

“I am.” She asserts, pointing out a thick suitcase coming out of the belly of the airport. Fareeha examines it, determines it isn’t theirs, and lets it coast to its owner. “I’m just... Not in the right frame of mind. All I’ve been thinking about is how comfortable you are with this.”

Fareeha neglects to answer, lifting another suitcase from the belt. She gives it a once-over, then sets it down gently onto the carousel.

“Of course I’m comfortable. Why aren’t you?”

“Because this is illegal.”

Rolling her eyes, Fareeha squats down, taking luggage tags up in her hands, then letting them drop as she speaks. “We’ve discussed the legality of this.”

“And you’re comfortable here,” Satya hisses, trying to look anywhere but the bags, “and I’m not. You know everyone, you want me to meet everyone. What am I supposed to do?”

“Make friends!”

“It’s not as easy for me. Stop shouting- you’re causing a scene.”

With herculean strength, Fareeha pulls their final bag from the conveyer, and drops it beside the others. A clanging sound comes from within, but Fareeha doesn’t bother. Instead, she comes close to Satya, voice dropped low, “They’re not bad people. I know you probably think of all of them as criminals, but so are you.”

“That isn’t my problem.” Satya snaps, taking her bags up. Turning on her heel, she begins to march to the doors, Fareeha trailing behind her.

“Then, what is?” She demands, “How can I fix a problem I don’t even know about?”

“I’m just upset that you have friends, and I don’t. Why do you need to fix that? I’m twenty-eight, I can solve my own problems.”

They stop at the curb, and both scan the horizon for a car. Fareeha knows what it’ll look like, but Satya checks anyways, to give her a break from the sight of Fareeha’s eyes. Nothing sticks out to her, and they both settle into silence. Somewhere, the sea surges, and Fareeha breathes.

“You take care of me,” She asserts, “and I take care of you. That’s how this works, okay? We don’t move across the continent together, and not take care of each other.”

Before Satya can speak, a car horn blares, and Fareeha’s head shoots up. She scrutinizes the area, nervous expression finally melting as her eyes rest on a stocky man, dressed in a flannel. A cowboy hat sits unevenly on his head, and Satya’s fingers itch with the great desire to correct it. Her willpower wins out, and she manages to keep her hands at her sides.

“Jesse!” Fareeha loses the last shred of her own strength, flying off the sidewalk into the man’s arms.

Jesse lifts Fareeha off the ground, squeezing her tight. Laughing, Fareeha beats Jesse’s back with her fists, and he finally releases her. For a moment, they stand together in the street, chatting idly amongst themselves, before Fareeha seems to remember Satya. She waves her over, and Satya nervously tip-toes off the curb, dragging her bags behind her.

“Satya, this is Jesse. He used to babysit me when my mother worked with him,” Fareeha gestures to Jesse, who gives a sloppy tip of his hat. She punches his bicep, and he clutches the site, stumbling as he pretends to be wounded. Satya doesn’t find it very funny. “And Jesse, this is Satya. She’s my girlfriend.”

“Bringing a girl home with ya, huh?” He teases, and Satya bristles. “Awful serious, then?”

“We live together.” Satya snaps, turning icily and pushing down the handle on her suitcase. Jesse quirks an eyebrow at Fareeha, who sighs and grabs the bag.

“You and Jesse chat,” She insists, taking up the other, “and I’ll put the suitcases in the car.”

Satya isn’t very good at making nice, but she won’t argue with Fareeha in front of company. Even if Jesse isn’t preferred company. Awkwardly, Satya clears her throat, fiddling with the straps of her backpack.

“So, you’re livin’ with Fareeha now?” He asks, looking back to the other side of the car to ensure Fareeha’s out of earshot.

“For several months.”

“Ain’t she just a doll?”

“Fareeha is my girlfriend, and I love her, but I would not call her a doll.” Again, a flush of protectiveness washes over Satya, and she raises her hackles. “If anything, she’s more like an action figure.”

Jesse crows with laughter, slapping his leg. Around the back of the car, Fareeha’s head pops up over the top, and she grins. Feeling like the only one out of the joke, Satya ducks her head, and turns to the duffel bag. Taking it up in her hands, she calls out to Fareeha, “I’m going to help you load the bags in the car.”

The liveliness dies from the scene as Satya marches to the trunk, struggling with the bag. She tosses it up against her own luggage, crawling up onto the bumper to face Fareeha.

“I don’t like Jesse,” She whispers, casting a doubtful glance back through the windshield. Jesse has busied himself with checking his phone, and Satya sneers.

“Why not? I thought you guys were getting along great!” Fareeha hunkers down beside her, and the car dips. She grunts, and Satya smirks, before going back to her crestfallen expression.

“He was laughing _at_ me. Not with me, because I wasn’t laughing.”

“What did you say?”

Puffing her chest, Satya turns to Fareeha, with a deadly expression on her face. “He said that you were a _doll_. I corrected him, saying that you’re more like an action figure.”

“Satya, that’s fucking hilarious.” Fareeha responds, a cheeky grin spread across her face

Indignantly, Satya hops off the back of the car. She throws her hands up in the air, shouting back, “What’s so funny about it?”

Through the windshield, Jesse gives them a wary look, and she scowls back at him. Undeterred, he comes sauntering around to the trunk, dragging the black bag behind him. Fareeha frowns, pushing the duffel out of the way to make space. Jesse heaves it into the trunk, and slams the door shut after it. He gives Satya an appraising look, but she’s quick to shoot him down.

“Let’s get going, then?” He asks, and Fareeha nods. “Satya, wanna sit up front?”

Seething, Satya shakes her head, throwing open the back door and clambering in. Fareeha shrugs to Jesse, swinging the passenger door open and hopping in.

 

They make it halfway to the base before Fareeha’s motion sickness comes back. She rests her head against the dashboard, breathing deeply as the scenery rushes by. Jesse sets a hand on her back, and a flash of jealousy fires through Satya. As she considers squirming in the middle and shoving him out of the way, Fareeha puts her head between her knees, and gags.

Jesse is quick to open the window, trying to redirect Fareeha, but she barely makes it, retching on the side of the door instead. In panic mode, all sympathy drains from Jesse as he sharply pulls to the shoulder, Fareeha finally get her head out the window.

“Give a guy some warning next time!” He yells, cutting the engine and hopping out of the car.

Fareeha follows suit, tossing her door open and vomiting into the grass. Predictably, Satya gets out as well, coming to gather up Fareeha’s hair while Jesse surveys the damage. After what feels like an eternity on the side of the road, Fareeha spits out what’s left in her stomach, and gets out of the car on wobbly knees.

“How do you feel?” Satya asks, guiding her around the pool of sick.

Not responding, Fareeha leans up against the car, turning away from the mess. Jesse stares blankly at the door, trying to figure out a way to clean it. Fareeha doubles over, dry-heaving again. Satya shifts behind her, rubbing her back as Fareeha whines.

“You’re alright,” Satya coos.

Coming around to them, Jesse pulls open the trunk with a pitiful glance in Fareeha’s direction. All she manages is another pained groan, lurching forward. Jesse produces a towel, then steps around the pair, and begins to clean the door.

Fareeha straightens up, resting a palm over her stomach. She inhales deeply, lifting her face towards the sky, trying to settle. Jesse finishes wiping up the vomit, and offers out the towel to Fareeha.

“Is it dirty?” She asks, voice hoarse and weak.

“With your filth,” He retorts, and tosses it out to her anyways.

Accepting it, Fareeha leans against the backseat of the car. She groans, using a clean edge of the towel to wipe off her mouth. Satya comes up beside her, rubbing soothing circles in her back.

“When we get back,” Jesse begins, stepping to them, “you should go see Angela. She’ll need a physical from y-.”

“It’s just car sickness,” Fareeha spits, moving away from the door and jiggling the handle. She pries it open, climbing onto the seat.

“This,” Jesse gestures to the puddle of vomit, “ain’t normal.”

“I agree.” Satya declares, jaw set, “You were sick on both flights here, and you’ve been ill since last week.”

Fareeha squirms across the row of seats, sulking rather than answering. She leans up against the door on the other side, glaring out the window as Satya gets in the car. They both buckle in while Jesse crosses the front, sighing as he hops in.

“Take two.”

 

Jesse escorts Satya and Fareeha to their quarters, and deposits Satya before dragging Fareeha back down the halls to seek out Angela. Satya has heard plenty about Angela Ziegler, a close friend of Fareeha’s in her youth. Fareeha had made it clear that they were no longer so buddy-buddy, and Satya never dares to push it. There are many things Fareeha likes to discuss, and those that she doesn’t are truly private matters.

The room is standard, according to Jesse, despite the en suite. A double bed is pushed up against the wall- decidedly not standard, according to Fareeha- and beneath it, an itchy rug that makes Satya’s back curl when she touches it. She tugs the thing out from underneath the bed posts, and a cloud of dust rises up from it, making her cough. It gets tossed in a heap, and Satya continues to survey the room. All that’s left to look it is a dresser, plain and dusty as the rug.

Satya sweeps her fingertips over it, and another dust storm rises up. As it settles, she pries open one of the drawers, discovering nothing but a well-folded uniform and beret. It must be for Fareeha, she figures, seeing the nameplate ‘Amari’ sitting on the left breast. Smiling, she traces the lettering with her fingertips, discovering a thin layer of dust as well.

Puzzled, Satya sits on the mattress, feeling a spring poke her in the ass. She twists, removing the ugly navy comforter to inspect the problem. The mattress is lumpy and old, meant to be replaced years ago- Satya’s surprised it doesn’t have the same film that covers the rest of the room. Running her palms over the past-their-prime springs, Satya considers bringing it to the attention of the superiors, but remembers she doesn’t know their names, and resigns herself to sitting amongst busted wires.

In the corner of their room, their suitcases are stacked endearingly, but Satya feels no compulsion to begin unpacking. She feels as though she’s in a hotel room, not her bedroom. Maybe, if Fareeha had not gone with Jesse, it would feel more like home. But she needs Angela more than Satya needs Fareeha, and she sits to ponder her next move.

Thinking is worse than doing, and Satya feels a horrible twist in her gut as she wonders why she won’t just put some clothes away. She flings her legs on the bed, squirming so her head meets the pillows, and grabs one to put over her head. When Fareeha had first caught her napping like this, she had been set into action mode, almost giving Satya CPR before she woke up. It’s her way of blocking out the bad thoughts, to reach a truly restful sleep.

When she wakes, the room is dark, and so is Fareeha’s face. She sits on the floor, sifting through the suitcases with a storm cloud hovering above her. For a moment, Satya stretches and unfurls her limbs as she tries to adjust to the change in light. Giving a grunt of acknowledgement, Fareeha doesn’t dare to rise up from the floor.

“What did Angela say?” Satya slurs, voice dripping with the heaviness of a nap gone on too long.

“She said congratulations were in order.” Fareeha snaps. She tosses a picture frame onto a pile of t-shirts, still not looking up from her task.

“... Congratulations?”

Fareeha huffs, shifting on the floor to pull something from her back pocket. She comes to the end of the bed, and hands the folded up piece of paper to Satya. Without a word, Fareeha drops back to her butt, waiting.

Satya recognizes the picture, from movies and television. A baby’s body, small and peanut-shaped, resting in the darkness of a womb. It feels almost falsified, before she spots ‘AMARI, F.’ in the corner, with the date beneath. Fareeha sniffs, but Satya doesn’t say anything, just studies the portrait of the fetus over and over again.

“This is ours?” She asks, pointing to the paper.

“Yeah,” Fareeha sighs, “it is. And we’ve got until next week to decide what to do with it.”

“Next week?”

“It’s the deadline for...” Pausing to find the word, Fareeha lets it slip her tongue, “You know.”

Examining Fareeha’s stomach with increased scrutiny, Satya tries to find a baby. She tries to find some sort of validity, to know this isn’t a big joke. Fareeha seems to follow the thought process, standing up and lifting her shirt. Then, Satya sees what she hasn’t looked for- the almost invisible curvature of Fareeha’s typically taught stomach.

“I wasn’t hiding it,” Fareeha puts her hands up, letting her shirt fall. “Angela had to point it out to me- I just thought I was bloated.”

A small chuckle escapes Satya, wondering how they had both been so oblivious. She comes closer to Fareeha, extending a hesitant palm, but Fareeha recoils.

“Don’t,” She whimpers. Like a wounded animal, she retreats to the den of luggage. “I don’t want either of us to get attached yet. We need to talk about this- logically. Helix is loaning me out here, if they find out that I’m not working, then I’m in trouble with my actual boss. Who’s paying us actual money to be here.”

“You can take maternity leave with Helix,” Satya points out. All of a sudden, the sleepiness is shaken out of her, and she stares at Fareeha with purpose. “Or do paperwork- do something useful. Don’t give this up because of your boss.”

“I want to keep it.” Fareeha confesses, and a pregnant pause sits between them, “We just have to be practical about it. What do we do when everyone finds out? How do I prove to Helix I’m worth the investment? Where do we get-?”

Satya cuts Fareeha off by holding up a solitary finger. Then, she points to the picture again, and scoots off the bed. Fareeha sighs, leaning back and experimentally putting her hand over her stomach. Joining her on the floor, Satya puts the picture between the two of them, looking back up at Fareeha.

“This is going to sound really bizarre coming from me,” Satya warns, and Fareeha laughs, “but I think we should deal with things as they come. We’re having a baby, there’s more important things to worry about than whether or not your boss is going to be mad.”

“I think that’s pretty high up there.”

“Let’s prioritize. We can make a list.”

Before Fareeha can protest, Satya begins to dig through her backpack, pulling out a holopad and stylus.

“Ready?”


	3. Oleander

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COMMENTS > KUDOS !! i love your thoughts and feelings about every chapter :)
> 
> \---
> 
> HEY FOLKS SORRY I DIED
> 
> jk i've just kind of lost my motivation and have been busy as hell! in order; i was promoted to captain for both of my extracurriculars, made a 3.5gpa, got 2 new nieces, graduated, went to my college orientation, and have picked up 2 mostly full-time jobs! its been really crazy!! but im honestly trying to get back into writing because its so therapeutic and i love it. so, without further ado, oleander- caution.

Sitting still has never been an easy task for Fareeha. There’s few good pictures of her in her school days, always captured as the blur of motion in the corner. Every class photo, the teacher looms over her and the broad, toothy grin she bears. She always radiates mischief, especially in the shots where you can see the fabric on her shirt being bunched and held, with her mother’s arm somehow placed perfectly where all the wrinkles meet.

It’s no different now. Fareeha watches Satya, just oozing jealousy as the latter prepares for her last round of early morning training. No matter that it’s six a.m., or that she’s been up half the night feeling nauseous and sore. With a cup of boiling hot tea between her palms, she sits and stares like a hungry jungle cat.

“What are you getting up to today?” Satya asks, wrestling off her pajama pants.

“I don’t know.” Fareeha sighs deeply, “Angela brought me new books to read. I’ll have to see who’s on base, see if anyone will want to head into town with me. Or, maybe I’ll clean some more.”

Despite Satya’s great preference for tidiness, she’s come to recognize that Fareeha’s sudden urge for orderliness isn’t from a change of heart, but rather one of hormones. Not a thing is out of place, and sweeping the room quickly, she can see it’s still ordered perfectly.

“Or,” Satya begins, testing the waters of suggestion with a look at Fareeha’s face. With no change, she continues, “You can go baby shopping with Angela-.”

“Too early.”

“- Go for a walk-.”

“Too hot outside.”

“- Get breakfast with Jesse-.”

“He’s in France.”

“- Tell your father about the baby.”

With a heavy groan, Fareeha sets her tea aside. She spares a half glance to Satya, who’s still dressing with her back to her girlfriend. Idly palming the growing swell of her stomach, she sighs deeply. “It’s just not fun without someone to do it with.”

“Then,” Satya wrestles on the standard-issue shorts, “why don’t we do it together when I get back from training?”

“What am I going to do all day then!?”

“Why don’t we call your father now, then you can spend the day telling everyone else.”

“I don’t want to do that.” Fareeha heaves herself out of bed. She pads lazily behind Satya, reading her hands on her hips, “It’s always such a hassle talking to my dad.”

“Really.” Satya murmurs. She feels a bit unsympathetic, but prefers not to voice her opinion, in favor of soaking in Fareeha’s sleepy warmth.

Fareeha pulls away, leaning up against the bedpost, another heavy sigh escaping. Again, her hand navigates straight for her belly, and Satya feels a small inkling of pride in her chest. “He’s just so needy, you know? He wants to stay on the phone for hours, like I don’t have a life. God, and he’s going to be so annoying about the pregnancy thing. All, ‘I’m so proud’, and ‘if your mother could see you.’ I hate it when he brings up my mother.”

Somewhat absentmindedly, Satya asks, “Do you think she’d be pleased?”

“Who, my mother? About what?”

“Yes. Do you think she’d be happy about...” Satya chews her lip, searching for the right words, finally coming out with it, “This? Us being together, a baby on the way, being with Overwatch. I know she never wanted you to be military, but... What do you think?”

“I think she’d be excited to see me like this,” Fareeha rolls her eyes, but Satya catches the way she maneuvers to cradle her belly, as though it might break if she isn’t holding it. “I’m not even sure if she wanted me to have a career. All she ever wanted of me was to be married and giving her grandchildren.”

“Well, you accomplished one of those things.”

Chuckling low, Fareeha shrugs. As though she’s finally noticed her hands, she drops them, rubbing her palms on her thighs. “When do you need to be out of here?”

“Soon.” Satya harrumphs, shucking off her sleep shirt and tossing it into the hamper, “Are you sure you’ll be fine by yourself today? Can you keep busy?”

“Of course. You do know that I lived on my own before you came along, right? Besides,” She smirks, setting a hand overtop her stomach again, “I’m not alone! Baby and I are going to have so much fun. I think, we’ll even throw a party!”

Satya presses a kiss to Fareeha’s cheek, giggling. “I’m sure you two will have a great day.”

 

Even in an illegal organization, there’s clerical work to be done. It’s painstaking paperwork that must be practiced until perfected, something that Soldier:76 intends for his charges of the day to accomplish. He sends Satya off to an abandoned meeting room with Hanzo, Mei, Hana, and a fat stack of mission reports. They divide the work up into plentiful piles, each taking a different corner of the room for themselves.

Armed with a black pen and coffee, Satya sets to work marking up her sheets. She works with feverish delight, happy to have some training that isn’t so physical. This feels more like home, more like Vishkar’s work. Like she’d learned all the way back at the Academy, Satya holds her arm parallel to the paper, trying to avoid smearing her ink. Her letters fit in tiny, invisible boxes she’s established for herself, uniform to a Vishkar agent halfway across the world. Even the way she holds her pen is branded with their mark, fingers crossed and folded so uniquely, no different than anyone else from her former class.

In childhood, they’d compare their lettering. Whoever was the most dissimilar would be mocked and shunned, sent to sit distantly at lunchtime. Satya would spend hours up in the dormitories, tracing the guides the teachers provided, praying she would never be the lonely one over on the bench. She’s lost in a sea of thoughts and fonts, writing without much thought, hearing only the buzzing of anxiety in her brain.

Until, someone screams.

Satya swivels her head, finally settling on Hana, flopped over at the head of the table. A weird reflex kicks in somewhere deep inside of her, and Satya finds herself at Hana’s side. Delicately probing the girl for signs of life, she begins her interrogations, “Are you alright? Do you feel sick? Do you want some water?”

Hana throws her hands up, proclaiming, “I’m dying of boredom!”

Immediately, Satya pauses in her efforts. Across the table, Hanzo chuckles low and deep, but doesn’t pick his eyes up from his paper.

“This is the worst!” Hana cries, leaping up from her chair and gripping Satya by the shoulders, “I can’t stand it! I’m going to go crazy! Look at all these numbers!”

“That’s an expense report, Hana,” Mei supplies. She taps a column with her pencil, “Of course there’s going to be a lot of numbers.”

“But they’re awful,” She whines. Passing the sheet off to Satya, Hana crosses to the door and leans against it dramatically, “I’m so bored! Everyone else gets to do fun things, and we have to stay in here. We don’t get to do anything!”

Hanzo shoves a mission report info Hana’s hand, “If you don’t like the numbers, then why don’t you copy edit this?”

They bicker back and forth, and Satya finds her way back to her seat. She begins her own expense sheet, tabulating total costs and working through the sea of numbers. Eventually, Hana gets herself seated once again, and they work in relative quiet again.

“Whoa!” Hana is the one to interrupt again, passing her assignment to Satya. It’s a censored medical document, though the details of an ultrasound and pregnancy test are eerily similar to her. “Someone on base is pregnant! That’s so crazy.”

Mei snatches the paper, examining it closely. “It’s probably old. I bet it’s Ana Amari’s.”

Squeezing into the conversation, Hanzo gives the document his assessment, then declares, “Its recent. Look, they didn’t cover the date.”

“That’s very interesting.” Satya murmurs, grabbing her phone from her pocket.

 

_[8:21AM] “I hope you’re having a better morning than I am. One of the girls that I’m doing paperwork with got the record from your ultrasound. Now, the entire group is trying to figure out who’s pregnant. Do you want me to say?”_

_Fareeha A. [8:23AM] “i can’t stop throwing up”_

_Fareeha A. [8:24AM] “can i think about this later”_

_[8:26AM] “I’m sorry you don’t feel well. However, this is somewhat urgent.”_

_Fareeha A. [8:27AM] “i don’t care”_

_Fareeha A. [8:27AM] “please bring me toast and a ginger ale when you’re done though”_

_Fareeha A. [8:28AM] “baby & i love you”_

_Fareeha A. [8:29AM] “even if baby is mad at me”_

_[8:31AM] “I would rather not tell until you’re ready. I love you and Baby very much, and I hope you start to feel better.”_

 

“Ew, Satya’s getting sent nudes.” Hana grimaces, setting down the medical report, “Look, she’s got that weird smile going on.”

“First of all, that’s inappropriate and absolutely none of your business,” Satya sets her phone down firmly, taking little joy in Hana’s paling face. “Second, nobody is sending me any sort of risqué pictures. And third, that’s disgusting.”

 

_Fareeha A. [8:34AM] “i told baby that i was talking to you, and she decided to relax for me. she’s such a mama’s girl already!”_

_Fareeha A. [8:35AM] “anyways, i thought you might want this to keep you going through all of the paperwork. good luck, honey :) we loooove you”_

_Fareeha A. [8:35AM] photo.jpg_

 

Satya catches sight of the ultrasound in the message’s thumbnail, and can’t resist lighting up at the grainy picture. Hana takes easy notice, pouncing on the phone and holding it far from Satya as she attempts to decipher it all. Mei makes a halfhearted effort to remove Hana on Satya’s behalf, but seems interested as well.

“Oh my God,” Hana gasps. She whirls around, offering the phone back to Satya. “She’s pregnant! Her! Fareeha! That one!”

“Ana’s daughter.” Mei whispers, taking a long look at the messages before Satya seizes the device back, “You two are dating?”

“And she’s _pregnant_? Oh my God.”

Rather than a feeling of pride rushing into her body, Satya feels nothing but pure, icy dread in her bones. Those three pairs of eyes on her feel like cameras, scrutinizing and appraising, and she suddenly notices where their gazes fall. Hanzo’s looking at her cheekbones, Hana at her chest, and Mei’s eyes flit down and then up, and they’re all trying to _deduce_. But they know. They know, and it makes Satya feel sick to her stomach, and dizzy in her head.

She holds her phone tight to her chest, hoping it’ll settle the arrhythmic thumping of her heart, but all it does is help to build the pressure rising. They _know_. They _know_ , but they’re still staring at her like she’s some sort of sideshow attraction.

“Satya?” Mei asks, in that tone that oozes pity and discomfort. She’s trying to figure out how to ask it gently, how to confirm the suspicions that lie in her jawline and shoulders.

“I,” Satya’s mouth is so dry, but it feels like she’s drooling, “I have to go. Um. Water. I, I need water.”

Before anyone can object, she yanks open the door, and takes off in a mad dash down the hall. Satya pauses in front of the bathroom, unsure which door is the right one, and decides to continue on, in hopes of finding somewhere better to hide. All she wants right now is Fareeha, curled up in the curve of her body, but she can’t navigate the labyrinth of corridors that her partner has called home for so many years.

Urgency fades into exhaustion, and Satya can only manage to shuffle her feet. She peels her phone from her chest, texting Fareeha.

 

_[8:40AM] “They know. I’m sorry.”_

_Fareeha A. [8:40AM] “about what?”_

_[8:41AM] “I fucked up.”_

 

Tears burn in the back of Satya’s throat, threatening to overflow. She presses the heel of her hand to her eyes, hoping it’ll keep them at bay long enough to regain her compsure. It fails with the buzzing of her phone in her pocket- a call from Fareeha.

“Hi,” She exhales, leaning up against a tiled wall.

“What’s going on?” Fareeha sounds tired and ragged, but Satya feels embraced by the sound of her voice, “Are you okay?”

“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine. I’m just... I’m just freaking out. It’s not a big deal. It’s fine.”

“You’re right, I don’t need to worry. But I do, Satya. I love you, and I care about you, and I want to take care of you. If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t be here. We wouldn’t be having a baby together. Remember that? How we’re having a baby together?”

“That’s the problem. Hana, Mei, and Hanzo, I guess- they know about you being pregnant, and that means that they know I’m not cis. They all gave me these looks, Fareeha. It was like they were horrified.”

“I’m sure they weren’t.”

“You weren’t there!” Satya cries out, digging her nails into her thigh. The flesh burns under her grip, but it feels so much better than allowing that noxious anxiety to sit heavy in her gut, “You didn’t see how they looked at me! They were so disgusted.”

“How do you know that they know? Medicine is truly magical.”

“Anyone can tell. Seriously, if I’d just gotten that nose job, I’d-.”

“Find something else to be unhappy with. Satya, no amount of surgery will change the fact that you’re a _woman_. No matter what anybody else says, you’re a woman! You’re a woman, you’re a mom, you’re a girlfriend. You’re wonderful.”

Satya leans her head back against the wall, shuffling her feet against the tile. That feeling rises up in her chest again, and with a spare hand, she holds tight to her roots, trying to push the pressure back down. Fareeha is waiting in silence, but it’s a comfortable quiet.

“You don’t understand,” Satya breathes deep, pressing a fist into the cramping muscle of her right side. “You don’t get it.”

“No,” Fareeha responds, somewhat absentmindedly. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Neither do I.”

They sit in silence once again, and Satya massages her temple with the heel of her free hand, “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Okay. Well, I’ve got a lot of time and a lot of voice.” Fareeha chuckles low, “I think all this morning sickness is finally going away. I’m actually feeling pretty good.”

“Aside from this morning?”

“That was all on Baby.”

They laugh in a funny harmony, and Satya feels real joy in her heart. All the fuzzy in her brain is slowly disapating, replaced with that feeling that Fareeha carries with her, that light inside, that warmth.

“What do you want to name her?” Fareeha asks.

“The baby?”

“No, our room. Of course, the baby.”

Satya harrumphs, earning a light laugh from Fareeha’s line. After a bit of thought, she responds, “I always liked Vivaan for a boy. Or Aditya, maybe Krish. It’s almost a bit too modern, but I can see it growing on me. For a girl... I think Prisha or Kamna is sweet.”

“I love Krish,” Fareeha croons. “Oh, I love it. Seriously, Krish is even better than the names I had picked out. Satya, if we’re having a boy, then we’re having a Krish. Little Krish Amari-Vaswani! Imagine that!”

“What names did you like?”

“They’re bad names! They’re nothing like Krish.”

“You really love that name.” Satya sighs wistfully, rolling the hem of her shirt between her fingers, “But I want to hear yours.”

“I don’t know, I wanted something kind of modern. A little American, sort of trendy. Jesse might’ve convinced me to go in that direction,” Satya can practically hear the eyeroll in her voice. “I did like Felix and Louis, but they’re too American. Maybe Gabriel. I thought Idris was good, but I think it’s too dated. I just like Krish.”

“Louis is nice, so is Gabriel, and Idris. What do you think about Prisha and Kamna?”

“I’m not sure. Prisha is sweet, but I don’t really like the sound of it. Kamna... It’s got the right syllables.” Fareeha pauses, “I don’t know. I liked Salma, and Taja, oh, also Jamila. Issa and Iman, too.”

“Issa?”

“Its basically like a girl Jesus. That’s what Google told me,” Fareeha snorts. “Some girl in my primary class was named that. I looked through old class rosters for name ideas.”

“How authentic.”

“They have good memories.”

Satya rubs her palm over the fabric of her jeans, sighing deeply. There’s an awkward silence from the other end of the phone, and a dormant nerve is touched. As she shrugs off the feeling, Satya continues, “For boys, you like Krish, and I like Idris. Maybe, we can compromise?”


End file.
